


The Blessing

by Sarren



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Camping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Ghosts, Lewis Fright Fest 2019, M/M, Toasting Marshmallows, all hallows eve, past Robbie/Laura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarren/pseuds/Sarren
Summary: Robbie and James go camping.  Robbie's confused and a ghost from the past helps him find clarity.
Relationships: James Hathaway/Robert Lewis
Comments: 14
Kudos: 152





	The Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a Halloween challenge, so just a mite overdue.
> 
> The prompt was toasting marshmallows. I have never toasted or even eaten a marshmallow. I hope it doesn't show too much, oops.

An owl hoots somewhere in the darkness behind them. “How’d we get here again?” Robbie says, gazing up at the night sky. He’s always awed by how many more stars are visible once you get right out of the city.

James huffs. “As I recall, I made an offhand comment about not seeing the point of camping. You said, ‘Never say you’ve never been camping’”—James’s imitation of Robbie’s accent is spot on, though Robbie doesn’t think he sounded quite that aghast—“and here we are.”

“Uh huh.”

“You were most insistent. Quite swept off my feet, I was.”

“I’m starting to suspect I was conned.”

James’s expression in the firelight is too innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Right.” Robbie gestures around them, at the giant oaks, the well-maintained clearing, the pristine stream twenty feet away, moonlight glinting on the water. “You just happened to know a bloke who owns a bloody great forest.”

“What’s the point of having gone to public school if one isn’t able to take advantage of the perks occasionally?” 

“The old boy’s network,” Robbie scoffs.

“What would the British upper classes be without it?” James says drily.

“I wouldn’t have thought that’d be your thing.”

“You thought correctly. Quentin was a good mate at school, and we’ve kept in touch. He’s a decent sort.”

“Did you stay over his during the hols, an’ all?” Robbie asks and then grimaces; he’d not meant to bring up James’s less than ideal upbringing.

“Yes, as it happens.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“So we’re not likely to run across any other campers?” Robbie says, to change the subject, even though he’d pretty much figured that out, after they’d turned off the main track and past the ‘No Entry’ signs.

“Unlikely. Most of the forest is public access. Why risk getting shot for trespassing?”

Robbie stares at him.

“Kidding,” James says. “But really, it’s a few measly miles out of hundreds.”

“Blimey.” Robbie’s never been particularly bolshie, but the idea that so much of the UK is still owned by a few blue bloods in this day and age doesn’t sit well. He shakes his head and reaches over for another branch to put on the fire.

“Look at this way,” James says. “As long as the forests are privately owned and managed, they’re not being sold off to foreign interests or corporations.”

“So I should be glad that a handful of British toffs own most of the country’s natural assets instead of foreigners?”

James shrugs. He rolls his head to the side and back as though straightening out a kink, and then leans back on his hands, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “You could be glad about it just for this weekend.”

Well, Robbie can’t argue with that. James looks as serene as he’s ever seen him, and Robbie has to admit he’s enjoying the peace and quiet himself. More than that, he’s enjoying this time with James, just the two of them. More than he should, really. 

“Laura suggested I move in with her,” he says after a while in which the crackle of the fire and quiet rustling noises from beyond the tree line are the only sounds.

“Congratulations.”

“Yes, well…”

James looks up, the glow and flicker of the flames reflected on his concerned expression. “I take it congratulations are _not_ in order?”

“When it came to the sticking point, I just couldn’t.” Robbie rubs his hands together and holds them in front of the flames to warm them. “Stick it, that is.”

“Maybe you’re just not ready yet.”

“We had a bit of heart to heart over a couple of bottles of red.” Robbie thinks Laura had needed the Dutch courage as much as he had. “You know, what we want from life. What we want from a partner.” And other things. Things that James didn’t need to know about. 

James picks up a stick and prods at the fire. Sparks flutter in the air as the logs shift. He’s not looking at Robbie when he says: “And you found you’re not as perfectly matched as you’d thought?” He glances up at Robbie for a moment and then back at the flames. His face isn’t giving anything away. “That’s disappointing.”

“Is it?” Robbie’s heart sinks, despite himself. 

He’d felt a bit blindsided, to be honest, when Laura had mentioned it, casual-like, over dinner one night. He’d put his fork down rather abruptly, the metal clattering against the china plate. Laura’s eyes had narrowed, and whatever she’d read in his expression—he suspects he’d looked just as dumbfounded as he’d felt—had caused her to top up her wine glass and reach for a second bottle.

“Why now?” he’d managed finally, knowing it was the wrong response, but he couldn’t seem to think clearly. He shouldn’t be surprised, should he? It was the natural progression, wasn’t it? Especially at their time of life. 

Laura had smiled sadly. “Is it James?” she’d said, but not like she was really asking.

Robbie had just stared at her, his brain simply refusing to work, while Laura pointed out that Robbie spent more time with James than he did with her, between work, evenings at the pub, and their kayaking adventures. She couldn’t help but wonder about them, she said, having the grace to look slightly apologetic. So she’d asked him to move in. “A push, of a sort, to see which way you fell.” Then she’d blinked and stared at her nearly empty wine glass.

Christ knows where she’d got the idea that there was anything more than friendship between James and him. But when he’d opened his mouth to deny it, full of righteous indignation, he’d looked at the resignation on Laura’s face, and he’d felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

“Oh, Christ,” he’d muttered, and swallowed the rest of his own wine in a gulp.

To his surprise, Laura had smiled, somewhat ruefully, at his dismay. “Strangely, the fact that you’re more surprised about this than I was makes me feel better,” she’d said and she’d poured them both another glass of wine.

James prods at the fire, his eyes on the burning wood he’s shifting. Robbie watches the sparks float up with the air currents. 

“What hope is there for the rest of us poor souls, if two such well-matched people can’t make a go of it?” James says. It’s his cynical tone, the one that makes Robbie’s heart break for him.

“Perhaps there’s such a thing as too well matched.” They were compatible, and they cared about each other. More than a lot of people got, after all. Robbie’s not sure it would have been enough, though, even without… well, he’s not going to dwell on that.

“Hmm,” James says. He’s staring into the fire.

“That’s it?” Robbie says, deliberately lightly. “No sage advice for me?”

“I’m the last person to provide relationship advice.”

Robbie supposes he has a point, but refrains from saying so.

James’s eyes flick up to his for an instant, and even in the dim light, Robbie thinks he catches a gleam, as though James knows what he was thinking. The corners of James’s mouth turn up slightly.

Ha. Robbie just smiles at him, though, and raises his nearly empty bottle of beer in acknowledgement.

“Another?” James offers.

“Why not?”

James reaches over into the drinks hamper and pulls out two more bottles of Becks. Robbie leans over and takes the one James is holding out to him. Then James is twisting around to rummage in his backpack. Robbie watches him. Watches the lean lines of his body under his layers of tops, his close fitting jeans. James had come back from his Spanish adventure leaner than ever. Robbie hadn’t taken much note of it at the time, caught up in the newness of his and Laura’s relationship.

Robbie blinks. James is watching him, his head tilted slightly to the side, whatever it was he’d got out of his backpack held in his hand. “Sorry,” Robbie says, and puts down his unopened beer carefully to the side, where he can’t knock it accidentally. “Wool-gathering,” he says apologetically.

He half expects James to make some smartarse comment, but James just smiles at him.

“What’s that, then?” he asks, nodding at the packet in James’s hand.

James looks down at it as if he’d forgotten it was there. He holds it up for Robbie to see.

“Marshmallows?” Huh, that’s unexpected. James doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth. “I haven’t had those since the kids were little.”

“Apparently they’re a staple component in camping.”

“James… did you _research_ camping?”

There’s a long pause. “I might have.”

“Didn’t you ever go camping as a bairn?”

“Of course I did.”

“With your family?”

“God, no.” James looks pensive. “Through school. I got enough of the outdoors on compulsory school hiking trips. Haven’t been inclined since.”

“What about… Spain?”

“I hate to ruin whatever image you have of my trip being one of spiritual asceticism and athleticism but I typically stayed in hostels along the way.”

“Sounds like my sort of holiday.”

“It was mostly walking a lot.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve done my share of walking tours in my time.”

“Is there photographic evidence of these alleged adventures of yours?”

“Ha, you’ll regret saying that once I haul out the old slide projector.” Robbie frowns. He’s pretty sure it’s in storage somewhere, with other remnants of his life with Val. It’s past time he got rid of it, he thinks with a pang. Lyn’s long since had the photos copied on to the computer, anyway.

“I’m quailing already,” James says blithely.

James is still holding the bag of marshmallows, and Robbie wonders if they toasted marshmallows on those school trips that seem to hold no good memories for him. Well, James has got them both out here, the least Robbie can do is see to it he gets the full camping experience. 

“Go on, then,” he says, nodding at the unopened bag. “I was never that good at getting them to stay on the stick, mind,” Robbie warns.

“How hard can it be?” James says, his eyebrows raised. 

“No, you’re right, must be my memory playing tricks on me,” Robbie says blandly. “Old age, you know.”

James eyes him suspiciously.

Robbie gestures with his beer bottle towards the bag. “You go right ahead.” He lifts the bottle to his mouth to hide his smile, and takes a swig.

Of course James manages it perfectly the first time. “The trick is to just toast them over embers instead of the flames,” he says. He holds the marshmallow up and then just stares it with apparent concentration.

“Well, are you planning on eating it, or what?”

“You’re supposed to wait 30-60 seconds before you eat it.”

“30-60 seconds, eh? Google that too, did you?”

“YouTubed it.”

“Whatever happened to trial and error?”

“It burnt its mouth on boiling sugar?”

Robbie watches James as he lifts the toasted marshmallow off the end of the stick. He purses his lips to blow on it and then gingerly bites off half. His nose crinkles a bit and his mouth turns down.

“Not a fan?” Robbie says.

James shakes his head deliberately. He holds out the remaining half of the marshmallow, and Robbie leans over and takes it. Their fingers brush. Robbie is oddly warmed by James’s action. It’s intimate, in a way, sharing a titbit like that instead of just tossing the remains in the fire and toasting a new one for Robbie. Something a family member would do. 

Or a lover.

The thought pops into his mind despite himself and Robbie curses Laura’s inconvenient perceptiveness and insistence on having it out, even though he knows it’s not fair of him. He’d been quite happy being oblivious to the whole thing. 

Bugger. While he’s been obsessing ridiculously over James’s no doubt offhand gesture the melting marshmallow is oozing over his fingers, just this side of too hot. He pops the rest of the gooey sweet into his mouth, the burnt sugar flavour bursting on his tongue, and sucks the remains of the sticky stuff off his fingers. He looks up at James, thinking to make some comment, but whatever it is goes straight out of his head because James is watching Robbie suck on his fingers, and the expression on his face…

Robbie feels his own face flame. James looks transfixed.

He only catches the briefest glimpse of it though, because James has caught him staring and Robbie doesn’t know what his own face is revealing, but James’s eyes widen. He scrambles to his feet, his face averted, his usually graceful movements suddenly clumsy, disjointed, as he gestures from the empty beer bottles to the trees. “I’m just going to….” he says, and strides off into the forest, disappearing quickly into the darkness.

What just happened?

He has an idea that James will be gone for a while. Robbie twists the cap off his beer and tosses the cap in the direction of the plastic bag they’re using for rubbish.

He takes a long swig from the bottle and then stares blindly at the glass, seeing only the image of James’s face… his expression. It had looked like…. Christ, he must be mistaken. He’s clearly had too much to drink. He can’t let himself consider it, can’t let himself believe it.

“You were always your own worst enemy, love.”

The bottle drops from suddenly nerveless fingers and he’s distantly aware of the beer splashing onto his socks and trainers, but he can’t spare a thought for that now. Val is sitting across from him, comfortable in her favourite old camp chair, discernible through the wisps of smoke curling up from the fire.

Val.

“Hello, love,” Val says, smiling gently.

“You’re dead.”

“Yes.”

“I’m seeing things.”

“Maybe,” she says, and now she appears sad, and, hallucination or not, Robbie regrets making her look that way.

“I’m glad to see you anyway,” he says, and he is, and all the love he’d felt for her settles over him, familiar and warm and comforting.

“I’m glad to see you, too,” she says, and she’s solemn now, but she’s no longer looking sad, and Robbie’s grateful for that.

For a while he just sits and drinks in the sight of her beloved face. She appears exactly the same as she had the last time he’d seen her, the lines age had worn into her features are still present. Nevertheless she’s as beautiful to Robbie as the day he’d married her.

“Why are you here?” he says, eventually.

“To tell you it’s okay to let yourself move on, Robbie.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Is this about Laura?” Robbie asks. It feels odd talking to his wife about a woman he’d dated. Even if she is, apparently, a ghost. “Because there was a reason we didn’t work out—”

“I know.” There’s a twinkle in her eye now. They’d had no secrets between them. Val had always been open minded and didn’t judge people. Didn’t judge him.

“Oh.” His cheeks warm again. He doesn’t really want to talk about this right now, even with Val, not when James could be back at any moment. He glances over at the place James disappeared into the trees and then says softly. “It wouldn’t be fair to him. Even if he… He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

“That’s his decision to make, not yours.”

“He doesn’t exactly have a history of making good choices where relationships are concerned.”

“You love him.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t deny yourself happiness. Don’t deny _him_ , if you’re who he wants.”

“If.”

Val regards him with that fondly exasperated frown she’d had whenever one of the kids (and occasionally him) thought they were pulling one over on her.

“For my sake, if not for yours,” she says, and Robbie realises with a sudden sharp pang of anguish, that she’s fading. 

“No,” he cries, and he’s reaching out, even though he knows it’s useless. He sees the shape of the words, more than hears her as she fades. “Be happy, Robbie.” 

A few moments later James emerges abruptly from the trees. “Robbie!” he says, and then stops abruptly when he sees Robbie. His eyes dart past Robbie, as though searching for something.

“What’s the matter?” Robbie asks. 

“I heard you call out.”

“Oh, that. Sorry, nothing to concern yourself about.”

“You sure?”

“Aye.”

James subsides back to his place by the fire. There’s something tense about his posture, despite his obvious attempt to seem at ease. Obvious to Robbie anyway. Sometimes he thinks he knows James better than himself, after all this time. And then sometimes James pulls something like this disappearing act and Robbie wonders if he’ll ever really know him. 

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks, because James clearly doesn’t want to talk about… whatever that was that made him storm away.

James looks up at that. “Why do you ask?”

“I just… no, never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

James’s eyes sharpen. “Did you see something?”

God, he wants to tell James, but what if James doesn’t believe him? Best case scenario, James thinks he’s seeing things. Worst case, James thinks he’s gone doolally. And how could he blame him?

“Robbie?”

“I thought I did, but I couldn’t have, could I?”

And part of him does hope that James will knock this fancifulness on its head straightaway, because, ghosts? Really? 

“What did you see?”

“I saw… I _thought_ I saw Val. I’m going mental, aren’t I?”

James appears for a moment like he’s considering it, then shrugs. “The ancient Celts reckoned All Hallows Eve was when the veil between the worlds was thinnest, allowing the dead to cross over. A lot of people still believe it, and there are numerous accounts of spirits returning to visit loved ones, as well as some not so benevolent encounters.”

“All Hallows Eve?”

“Halloween. It’s October 31st today.”

“Oh, yes.” He’d forgotten. Normally he’d stock up on sweets, open the door to trick-or-treaters. Put on a silly mask or goggly-eye glasses to amuse the kids. Then this thing with Laura had knocked him sideways, so that when James had mentioned not having gone camping since he was a lad… Robbie had been keen to get away, get some space, some perspective. It’d only dawned on him after James had agreed that perhaps spending time in very close quarters to the person causing the existential crisis might not be best way to go about it. But James had been so unexpectedly keen on the whole thing, well, Robbie hadn’t had the heart to back out.

“Have you ever seen anyone yourself?”

“No.” James appears to hesitate, then his lips firm and he says: “There’s no one I’d want to see.” 

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” he says, half questioning. James just shrugs. 

Robbie becomes aware that his sock is soaking wet and he reeks of beer. He leans over and strips off the wet trainer and sock. “Oh, bloody hell,” he mutters when he notices the bottom of his jeans are soaked too. He picks up the bottle, and drains the rest of the beer and then tosses the bottle over with the rubbish.

James is holding out a bottle of water and a towel.

“Cheers.” Robbie rinses the stickiness away and dabs his foot dry, giving more attention to the task than it really warrants. He’s aware that James keeps shooting him glances.

James won’t ask, though. The subject of Val has always been off limits, at first because it was too painful, then, Robbie understands, out of habit, because he’d never told James otherwise.

“She said she wants me to be happy.”

James looks up at him then. He smiles gently. “I have no doubt that she does.”

“No doubt, eh?”

“None at all.”

It’s comforting. An hour ago, Robbie would have dismissed the idea out of hand. And it’s possible, he supposes, that he imagined the whole thing, although he really doesn’t think he’d had _that_ much to drink. But he’s going to choose to believe it was real, that she was real, because he’d never met anyone stronger than Val, and she’d loved him and the kids more than life itself. If anyone could find their way across this veil thingummy, he’d no doubt Val would manage it.

“Did you bring track pants to sleep in?” James asks and Robbie sees he’s holding out a pair of thick woollen socks. 

Robbie thinks of the cotton ones he’d brought. “Thanks,” he says and strips off his other sock and shoe and pulls on the warm socks, touched by James’s thoughtfulness. The temperature’s dropped more than he was expecting it to. Now that he’s thinking about it, he realises he’s starting to shiver. He zips up his anorak and holds his hands out to the fire.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

James glances at his watch. “It’s getting late and it’ll be warmer in the sleeping bags. Why don’t we call it a night?”

Robbie feels a lot like he’s been put through the wringer. “Aye,” he says. He reaches into his pack for comfy clothes to change in to and then matter-of-factly starts to get changed. He thinks after the business earlier that he should feel awkward, but he’s too tired, and he’s not about to move away from the meagre warmth of the fire until he has to. When he glances up, he sees James has changed into grey tracksuit bottoms and a soft-looking oversized jumper and is busy dousing the fire with the bucket of sand he’d prepared before they’d settled down.

He finishes getting ready for bed, cleaning his teeth and packing his stuff away, and then getting out his sleeping bag, aware that James is doing the same. James’s is electric blue and looks slim and compact, but Robbie suspects it’s some state-of-the-art job that would be suitable for an Arctic expedition. James confirms his suspicion when Robbie unrolls his own much bulkier sleeping bag that’s done him just fine for over 40 years and James practically gasps in horror.

James takes hold of a corner of the bag, staring down at the cotton as he fondles it. His brows are drawn together, his mouth turned down. “You can’t sleep in that.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’ll put another jumper on, and me gloves. I have done this before, you know.”

James presses his lips together like he’s restraining himself from arguing. After a moment his shoulders slump and he shrugs. “Look, the forecast has changed. It’s going to get pretty arctic. My sleeping bag is big enough for two, and we can put yours over the top of it.”

Robbie feels his heart rate pick up. James wants to share his sleeping bag? After that thing that happened earlier that they weren’t talking about? “How cold is it going to get, exactly?”

“Cold enough that the options are we share body warmth or we pack up and go,” James says, casting another disapproving look at Robbie’s sleeping bag.

“Right.” Robbie takes a deep breath and ducks into the tent. He subsides onto the air mattress James had set up earlier—apparently his desire for an authentic camping experience doesn’t extend to sleeping on the ground. Although, Robbie suspects James was thinking more about Robbie’s back than his own comfort, but he doesn’t call him on it. James would only give him that ‘who, me?’ look.

He unzips the sleeping bag all around and then just sits clutching it, his knees drawn up, in the dark. He’s oddly breathless, and his heart is hammering in his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Robbie tenses. James’s voice is quiet enough that Robbie could ignore it if he wanted to, pretend to be asleep. James wouldn’t push, even though James must have been aware of his reaction. Or possibly James just knows him that well, because he adds hurriedly: “Not if you don’t want to, obviously. I just thought, seeing her again….”

Relief, and something like disappointment, makes Robbie’s tone sharper than he meant it to be when he says, “Val, you mean?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Robbie sighs. “No, you’re all right, man. I’m sorry I snapped.”

James’s voice in the darkness sounds tentative when he says: “Was it bad?”

“No,” he says, surprising himself. “No, it was good, actually.” Now that Robbie’s had a chance to get used to the idea, he finds it reassuring—the idea that Val isn’t gone forever. That he might see her again, someday. “Comforting.”

“I’m glad.”

“She said—” 

“She spoke to you?”

“She said she wants me to be happy.”

James’s voice is quiet. “Your wife was clearly a very wise and generous person.”

“Yes,” Robbie says, clearing his throat, which is oddly tight. “She is.”

James shifts closer. For a moment, Robbie is aware of nothing but the heat radiating from James’s body. Then James’s arm slides around his shoulder. James is pulling him closer. It’s only when his face comes to rest against James’s shoulder that Robbie realises his face is wet.

James doesn’t say anything when Robbie works his hand up between them to swipe at his face, and then rests his hand over James’s chest. After a moment, he lets his fingers curl into the soft wool of James’s jumper, and just breathes. 

“How do you feel?” James murmurs, a million years later.

“Light.”

James doesn’t say anything, but Robbie knows he’s listening. James is giving him space, even as his arm remains firmly around Robbie. 

Eventually, though, when Robbie doesn’t say anything else, he ventures: “Like you can move on, now that she’s given you her blessing?”

Robbie finds himself smiling against James’s shoulder. “Oddly enough, no. I’d managed to come to that conclusion myself.”

“You had?” James’s voice is hoarse and Robbie can tell that he’s tensed up. James’s arms are warm around him, and in the darkness, everything is easy, suddenly. He lets go of James’s jumper and raises his hand to where he judges James’s face to be. His fingers encounter stubble and he runs the tips of his fingers along the side of James’s face till his hands are cupping James’s jaw. He tilts his head up, pushing slightly against James’ cheek as he does so. James obligingly tilts his head down. Their lips meet in the darkness, off centre, and they draw apart slightly. Robbie’s lips tingle from the puff of air against them when James breathes out.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” James murmurs. 

_That I’m what you want,_ Robbie hears.

“I’m sure.”

“We can wait. Take things slowly.”

_I can wait._

“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you,” Robbie says firmly, and leans in that last inch.

Later, when it’s James lying with his head on Robbie’s shoulder, and his hand resting on Robbie’s chest, over Robbie’s heart, James mumbles something that Robbie doesn’t catch. “Pardon, love?” 

“I said, do you think Val would approve of me?” 

Robbie thinks of the knowing look on Val’s face earlier, the twinkle in her eye, and can’t help chuckling a little. Figment of his imagination, or spirit from another plane, it doesn’t matter. 

“I know she does,” he says confidently, and holds James close.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I watched a fuck ton of Morse trying to get a sense of Val as a character and as far as I can tell she got one line of dialogue and that was mostly in Greek. So my characterisation of her is entirely based on Lewis's memories.


End file.
